The Night Gate - Enzo MacLeod Investigation Series 07 (2021)

by Peter May

  The wind had dropped along the sheltered east coast the next morning, but the rain fell steadily, and the women were quickly soaked as they assembled at the rear of the castle, wearing only khaki T-shirts and canvas shorts, waiting for Sergeant Connolley to appear. Cumbersome leather running shoes quickly absorbed the wet and grew heavy as the girls grew impatient.

  ‘Where is he?’ Joan growled.

  ‘Leaving us out here on purpose, I bet,’ Mairi said. They had all taken to jogging on the spot to keep warm.

  At length they heard the sound of a vehicle engine, a steady throbbing in the rain, before a canvas-covered jeep emerged from the trees on a muddy track. It drew up beside them and the sergeant jumped out. He was wearing a rain cape with the hood pulled up. It was running with water, so he had been out in the rain himself.

  ‘Morning, ladies.’ He reached into the jeep and started pulling out army rucksacks to drop on the rain-sodden ground. ‘Put these on.’

  Alice was the first to lift one. ‘God, it’s heavy,’ she gasped.

  ‘You’re breaking my heart, love.’ Connolley’s voice came muffled from inside the jeep.

  Rebecca heaved hers on to her back and pulled a face. ‘What’s in them?’

  ‘Rocks,’ Connolley said, turning to face them. ‘To simulate the kind of load you’ll be expected to carry in the field.’ And he grinned as he took in their expressions. ‘You train to be fit. To survive in any conditions. It’s what’ll keep you alive.’ He looked up at the leaden sky that poured its relentless tears on the poor souls below. ‘I’ve marked out a course around the grounds with flags and arrows. It’s maybe three miles in total.’ He smiled at their groans. ‘There’s a whole network of tracks through the woods, but they’ve not been well maintained, so watch out for potholes. A puddle could be an inch deep, or six. So don’t go breaking any ankles.’

  He walked around the jeep as they all pulled the rucksacks on to unwilling backs and felt the weight of them dragging at their shoulders.

  ‘Start over there.’ He pointed towards a break in the trees, beyond which the woods seemed very dark. ‘Follow the arrows. I expect to see you back here in well under an hour.’

  Georgette said, ‘Not coming with us?’

  ‘No.’ That sarcastic smile again. ‘Scared you’ll miss me?’

  She shook her head. ‘Just wondered if maybe you weren’t up to it.’

  His smile vanished. ‘We’ll see who’s not up to it,’ he said.

  The smell of damp, rotting vegetation filled the air, along with the stertorous breathing of the girls, as they pounded off into the woods, straps chaffing at soft skin through wet cotton. They agreed quickly among themselves to pace each other and not run too fast, moving together in a close single line along narrow paths, taking turns at leading the pack and then falling to the back.

  It was hard going, and Georgette found herself reciting fragments of a poem in her head from a book her mother had given her for her thirteenth birthday. She couldn’t recall it exactly and improvised a couple of lines that kept repeating, like a mantra carrying her through the pain.

  The woods are dark,

  My promise to keep.

  So far to go before I sleep.

  Georgette’s promise – a promise she could share with no one – was to keep the Mona Lisa safe. And she wondered when, if ever, that promise might be fulfilled and she could sleep without fear of failure.

  She tried not to think about it, focusing instead on the rain as it fell on her face, the beat of her feet on soft, wet ground, the inordinately loud rasping of her own breath, the cawing of rooks somewhere far above them in the canopy.

  Then a cry of pain broke through her concentration, and she almost collided with Mairi directly in front of her as the group came to a muddy halt. Alice was on the ground at the head of the pack, half covered in mud, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her ankle. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck!’ she whispered, and they were all shocked to hear the language of the barracks room escape such cultured lips.

  ‘Is it broken?’ Rebecca asked.

  But Alice shook her head. ‘Don’t think so. Just went over on it. So stupid!’

  Georgette stepped forward to help her to her feet. She knew she was fitter than the others. ‘Can’t be much further to go,’ she said, checking her watch. ‘You girls go on, I’ll help Alice back to the castle.’

  The girls exchanged glances, reluctant to leave Alice and Georgette behind. But Georgette waved them on. ‘Go,’ she said. ‘Don’t give that sarcastic bastard any excuses to come down harder on us than he already has.’

  When the girls had gone, and the pounding of their feet in the wet had receded to a muffled reverberation among the trees, Alice wiped the tears from her face and turned it towards Georgette. ‘I’m sorry, George. I really am.’

  ‘Hey,’ Georgette said, ‘if we can’t look after one another, who else will?’ She slung Alice’s rucksack over her left shoulder and supported Alice with her right arm as they set off through the woods at a painfully slow pace.

  They arrived back at the castle a good twenty minutes after the others. The girls were crowded together for warmth and shelter in the doorway to the kitchens, their rucksacks in a pile on the ground beside the jeep. Connolley sat behind the wheel with the engine idling, smoking a cigarette.

  The girls rushed forward to help Georgette and Alice as soon as they emerged from the woods, but Connolley was quickly out of the jeep. ‘Stay where you are!’ he barked, and stood with his hands on his hips until the two stragglers arrived at the vehicle. Georgette released Alice’s rucksack on to the pile, but Connolley stopped her from removing her own. ‘Just keep that on your back, Pig Nall. Seems you make a habit of being late for everything.’

  ‘She was helping me,’ Alice said.

  But Connolley ignored her protests. ‘I bloody well told you to be careful, didn’t I?’ He hissed breath through clenched teeth and shook his head. ‘You’d better go see the doc and get that strapped up.’ He jerked his thumb towards the castle, and Rebecca stepped forward to help her to the door.

  There was a long stand-off, then, in the rain, Connolley gazing at Georgette with ominous reflection, and she wondered when he was finally going to let her remove this aching weight from her back. He scratched his chin.

  ‘Since I have no idea what I’m training you for, we’re going to have to make sure you’re doubly fit.’ He tilted his head towards the start of the circuit. ‘Do it again.’

  There was an audible gasp from the others. ‘That’s not fair,’ Joan protested.

  Connolley turned his head dangerously in her direction. ‘You want to join her?’ When his question was greeted by silence, the sarcasm returned to his smile. ‘Didn’t think so.’

  Georgette said, ‘Why don’t you? Scared I might beat you?’

  He laughed. ‘Darling, I could do two circuits in the time it would take you to do one.’

  ‘Let’s put that to the test, then.’

  As if someone had flicked a switch, he suddenly became serious. ‘Okay.’ He pulled off his rain cape and the pullover beneath it, stripping down to a white singlet and camouflaged military trousers. ‘Gimme your rucksack.’

  Georgette freed herself of it with relief. There was just a chance she could avoid complete humiliation if she wasn’t burdened with the extra weight. He took it from her, laid it on the ground to open it and start filling it with more stones from one of the others. ‘What are you doing?’

  He turned his rain-streaked face towards her. ‘Evening things up, Pig Nall. I’m a good deal heavier than you. We wouldn’t want you to have an unfair advantage now, would we?’

  Georgette stood in the rain staring at him with hatred in her heart, and wanted to scream. She risked a glance at the others and saw the horror on their faces. But she said nothing.

  When Connolley had finish
ed loading her rucksack with more stones she took it without a word and slung it on to her shoulders. She felt the weight of it pulling her backwards and had to lean forward to maintain her balance. Still she held her peace, and kept her eyes fixed on Connolley’s. For a moment she thought he was almost disconcerted by her defiance, but then he smiled and said simply, ‘And we’re off.’ He jogged past her and headed for the trees.

  Georgette gritted her teeth and started after him. She could see the muscles of his back through the wet of his singlet, and the easy lope of his strong stride. And she was pretty sure he could run six miles faster than she could run three with this weight on her back. But she was determined not to show weakness. She would finish the course, no matter what. That would be a victory in itself, albeit pyrrhic.

  He very quickly disappeared from view, and she heard him crashing off through the woods, the sound of him becoming more and more distant, until finally she could hear nothing but her own breath and the sound of the rain, her feet splashing through mud, and a murder of crows laughing hysterically somewhere high above.

  She found a rhythm and rediscovered her mantra of the first time round. My promise to keep, my promise to keep, so far to go before I sleep, before I sleep. It stopped her thinking about the pain, inducing a numbness both physical and spiritual that consumed her consciousness.

  She had no sense of passing time, was barely aware that the rain had stopped. Somewhere high above the trees, a rising wind was tearing gaping holes in the clouds, and a determined sun fought to make itself seen in fleeting glimpses. Light caught droplets hanging from leaves and branches, like fairy lights in the forest, and the occasional ray of sunlight fell between trunks as a fine mist rose from the forest floor to hang suspended in bright golden shafts.

  Now she could see the dark, towering shape of the castle through the trees ahead, and like the long-distance runner on seeing the finish line, almost stumbled and fell. She was nearly there. And suddenly Connolley drifted past her, long, comfortable strides, still light of foot. She hadn’t even heard him coming. ‘My second time round,’ he called back at her. ‘We can do it again tomorrow, if you like.’

  The mood around the table at lunch was sombre, a sad little oasis of silence in the midst of the vocal animation that filled the dining room. Alice’s foot had been strapped up by a medic, and she would be unable to take part in training for some days. She kept glancing guiltily at Georgette, burdened by the thought that somehow what had happened was all her fault.

  For her part, Georgette was keeping her thoughts to herself, a simmering silence that masked the anger that burned inside her. Connolley was sitting at a table of other NCOs on the far side of the room, and each time his voice was raised in laughter there was an exchange of resentful looks among the girls. Was he relating the story of how he had managed to humiliate the insolent Frenchie and prove his athletic prowess, all at the same time? Whatever the conversation, Connolley and his friends were enjoying it.

  Finally Joan said, ‘It’s just not fair.’

  There was a murmur of agreement around the table, but no one could think of anything else to say. They were all washed and changed now, in military fatigues and army boots, faces scrubbed clean and shiny red from the cold of the rain and the heat of their anger.

  A dapper man in his fifties approached the table, dressed casually in army-green pullover and slacks. His thinning grey air was oiled back over a narrow skull, and a neatly clipped silver moustache seemed attached to the underside of his nose. Georgette saw two stars beneath a crown on his epaulettes.

  ‘Hello, girls,’ he said cheerfully. ‘I’m Colonel Smith. More or less in charge of this operation. Welcome to sunny Stornoway.’ He paused, allowing time for them to laugh, and when none of them did, pressed hurriedly on. ‘I’m glad to see you’ve bedded in. We run a tight ship here, and you’re all going to benefit from the training you’ll get from Sergeant Connolley. A good man, one of the best.’ He glanced out of the window. ‘I see things have brightened up a little for this afternoon. Makes a change, eh?’

  He could hardly have been unaware of the mood around the table, but if he was, he chose to ignore it.

  ‘Well.’ He thrust his hands in his pockets. ‘My office is right upstairs. Any problems, you just come and let me know. Enjoy the rest of your stay.’

  And with that he was off, quite probably relieved to escape the atmosphere among the newly arrived trainees. Rebecca leaned across the table to Georgette and said in French, ‘Why didn’t you say anything, George?’

  Mairi put her hand over Georgette’s. ‘You should have said something. If you don’t, I will.’

  But Georgette just shook her head. ‘I fight my own battles,’ she said.

  Sunlight washed across the gentle slope of the lawn as it fell away towards the trees below, and the footpath that followed the line of the inner harbour.

  The girls were assembled on a flat stretch of grass immediately in front of the castle, still in army fatigues, hair pinned beneath green berets pulled down on scowling faces. On Sergeant Connolley’s command they had been standing to attention for close on five minutes, feeling the wind freshening around them. He had gone back into the castle and left them standing stiffly in line, and they were aware of curious faces watching from the other side of the glass behind them.

  Glancing to her right, Georgette saw, adjoining the castle, a length of white-painted greenhouse and wondered if they grew their own food here. Her body ached from this morning’s exertions. All she wanted was to flop on to her bed and sleep. This was far worse than anything the Armée de Terre had put her through in France, but the air she breathed was so pure it was almost intoxicating. Late August, and there was already a chill in the air. Although it was lighter for longer this far north, there was a watery weakness about the sun, and a pallor about the people who lived here. In the bay beyond Stornoway, she saw the water grow choppy as the wind got up, and the sun reflected in coruscating diamonds all the way out into the Minch.

  ‘At ease!’ Connolley’s bellow carried to them on the breeze and he strode out on to the lawn in front of them. ‘We’re going to start learning some basic self-defence. A few simple moves that might one day save your lives.’ He chuckled. ‘After all, no man expects a girl to be able to upend him. Which gives you an advantage in the element of surprise.’ He placed his hands on his hips and surveyed them speculatively. ‘I’m going to need a volunteer.’

  When no one stepped forward, he laughed and pointed at Georgette.

  ‘Pig Nall, you’re it.’

  Georgette was aware of the others glancing in her direction. They all had a sense of what was coming. And she wondered how much more of this she could take. She drew a deep breath. ‘Sir!’ She had no idea where she found the strength in her voice. She took one step forward.

  He waved his hand to bring her closer and she moved warily out on to the grass. He addressed the others. ‘Things to remember. First off, stance and balance. Stand in a crouch, dominant leg behind the other.’ He demonstrated. ‘Keep your elbows at a little less than ninety degrees and always keep your hands in front of your face. Keep your stomach tense, because you never know when you’re going to be hit. You can predict when an opponent is going to strike by keeping your eyes on his chest. Keep his shoulders and hips in peripheral view.’ He straightened up. ‘Do not bunch your fists. That’ll make your whole arm tense, and you slower to react. Clench your jaw and keep your chin low. That’ll minimise any damage to your mouth and teeth. When you’re moving you need to be aware of constantly keeping your balance. And that means taking short steps, never crossing your feet, and maintaining a low centre of gravity.’

  He turned towards Georgette and grinned.

  ‘Got that?’

  She stared sullenly back at him.

  ‘Good. Let’s see how you do.’ He immediately adopted the crouching position, open hands raised in front of h
is face. Georgette did the same, and they began a slow-motion dance that took them one around the other. She stared her hatred into his face, and for a moment thought she might have unsettled him. ‘Look at my chest, not my eyes,’ he bawled. And as she lowered her eyes he moved in so quickly she had no time to react. One hand grabbed her tunic at the neck, the other slipped behind to grab her at the waist. He turned side-on and she found herself swivelling over his hip before crashing to the ground, landing on her back, every last drop of air expelled from her lungs. The full weight of him seemed to drop on top of her, and she saw his grinning face leering into hers, hot breath bursting in her face. If she’d had the strength, she’d have spat in it.

  Then he was up and on to his feet again, and addressing the watching girls. ‘Divide yourselves into pairs, and I’ll show you just how I did that so you can try it on each other.’

  Georgette was still on the ground trying to catch her breath. He leaned down, offering a hand to pull her to her feet. But she rolled away from him and regained her feet for herself, standing tense and ready for him to come again.

  ‘Stand easy, Pig Nall. We’re going to do this in half time.’

  He stepped in to grab her collar again with his left hand.

  ‘The secret is to turn side-on as you step in, presenting your hip for your opponent to roll over. You give them a helping hand by grabbing on to anything at their back. If they have a belt all the better.’ He slipped his right arm around her to grab on to the pleats of her tunic. And suddenly she was pivoting over his hip again and crashing to the grass. This time he stayed on his feet and held out a hand to help her up. Again she refused it. He shook his head and smiled. ‘You don’t learn easy, do you, Pig Nall?’

  She scrambled to her feet and stood gasping, fighting back tears of sheer frustration. Beyond him, she saw several of the NCOs who’d been sitting at his lunch table watching from inside, clearly enjoying her humiliation.